


Sand in My Boots

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: When he went through security at the airport he stepped out of his boots and a bit of sand ran out of them -- all he’d brought back to remind him of what he’d had with Brock.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	Sand in My Boots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts), [FantasticWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticWinter/gifts).



The indigo sky met cerulean waters as Jack stood on the beach. A breeze rustled around him, the air balmy. The pink and white beach was baby powder soft, enveloping his feet as he stood, a Corona in his hand as he admired the view. He wasn’t one for exotic vacations but one right call to the radio station had gifted him a four day three night getaway to a slot of paradise in Mexico, which he was coming up to the end of. A young couple passed him, the woman’s chiffon cover-up skirt fluttering delicately in the breeze that kept the heat to a comfortable level. Around him fellow destination travelers were sunbathing or taking in the view with fruity cocktails or cold bottles in their palms. Jack brought the rim of the bottle to his bottom lip and he tipped it back and let the cold liquid splash over his tongue. 

“Hell of a view, huh?” 

Jack lowered the bottle glancing to his left. A man had materialised there, a pair of Aviators perched in a quiff of chestnut hair that gleamed with a subtle undertone of copper. “It’s something,” Jack agreed. 

The man turned to look at him. He had nice eyes, umber and bright with curiosity. “You’ve got an accent,” he pointed out gleefully. 

“So do you,” Jack replied. 

He waved his hand dismissively, as though his manner of speech was less important than Jack’s. “You’re southern,” he said eagerly. “A cowboy.” 

That made Jack laugh. “I’m not a cowboy.” 

“You sound like a cowboy, that makes you a cowboy,” the man replied. He turned his gaze forward. “First time in Cancun?” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

“You’re staring. Newbies always stare.” 

“I take it you’ve been here before.” Jack took another drink of his beer. 

“I try to come once or twice a year. Escape winter,” he shuddered dramatically. “Fuck the cold. Not that you’d know much about the cold… Are you from Texas?” 

Jack smiled and took another drink. “No.” 

He hummed thoughtfully. “Tennessee.” 

“No.” 

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” 

“What’s the fun in that?” 

“Hm… I’m Brock, by the way.” 

“Jack.” Jack swapped the beer from one hand the other to shake his hand. He had a good grip. “Nice to meet you Brock.” 

“Likewise.” Their hands returned to their sides and they stood next to each other taking in the view. The sun was up high in the sky, bathing everything in its light. The surface of the water was a pane of glimmering glass. “Want to get in the water?” 

Jack’s brow arched, truly looking at the man beside him. He was shorter than Jack was but well built. He was wearing a white cotton tee that showed off the muscle definition beneath when the breeze pulled the fabric against it. His biceps were exposed and his skin was sun-kissed and olive in tone. Jack drained the rest of his beer in two large gulps and nodded his head. 

“Yeah, let's get in the water.” 

Brock shimmed out of tight fitting blue jeans and stepped out a pair of open toe sandals. Beneath he had a pair of burgundy swim trunks. Jack popped the button on his Wranglers and stepped out of his Red Wings. Brock’s white tee came off and all the muscle that had been hinted at was exposed in great details, everything that had been promised and more. Jack peeled off his black tee and dropped it in a heap on his jeans. Brock grinned at him, an inviting light in his eyes as he turned to face him taking a step backwards towards where the water lapped at the pristine beach. 

“C’mon cowboy.” 

Jack couldn’t help the smile that slipped across his face as he obediently followed him to the edge of the water. It was warm, lapping at their ankles as they stepped into the vast blue ocean. It was Jack’s very first time seeing the ocean and he wondered if it looked like this everywhere or if this was something saved for resorts. Brock’s back was still to the brilliant view behind him. Jack wondered if Brock was what made the view so breathtaking. He held out his hand and Jack didn’t hesitate to take it. They waded deeper until the water was hip deep, crystal clear around them. Tilting his head back Jack tried to absorb the moment, a beautiful destination, water at a perfect temperature, and the unexpected company of a handsome man. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such things but he wasn’t going to question it; he was going to revel in it for as long as he possibly could. 

“Sure is reeeaaallll purdy, ain’t it?” Brock said in a bassy baritone and a completely horrendous attempt at a southern accent. 

Jack laughed. “It’s very nice.” 

“So what made you decide to take a trip to Cancun?” He’d dropped the terrible accent thankfully. 

“I won a getaway.” 

“That’s awesome.” 

“I was just calling to complain that they kept playing the same song and I was sick of hearing it,” Jack shrugged his shoulders. Above him a yucatan jay called. “Won something instead.” 

Brock laughed. “You make yourself sound like a grumpy old man.” 

“I don’t know about  _ old _ ,” Jack said, frowning and Brock grinned.

“Hold my sunglasses.” Brock demanded, thrusting them into Jack’s hands before he could agree. 

He took a step back and dove under the surface. Jack could see him perfectly and admired the way his back flexed as he swam. He surfaced shortly afterward, pushing his sopping wet hair from his face. Water streamed down his face, glistening in the bright Mexican sun and Jack couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks.” Brock took them back. “Your turn.” 

“My turn?” Jack said. “I’m okay.” 

“Cowboys aren’t supposed to be scared of anything.” 

“I’m not  _ scared,  _ I just don’t feel like swimming.” 

“Ah, so you can’t swim.” 

“No, I can swim.” 

“Prove it.” 

Jack shook his head. He was too amazed by the man to be annoyed by his stubborn insistence. “You’re relentless.” 

“You gotta be in my line of work.” 

“And what line of work is that?” Jack asked curiously.

Brock wagged a finger at him. “Not so fast country boy. Speaking of which -- Mississippi.” 

“Wrong.” 

He scowled. “I’m going to get it,” he swore. 

“At this rate it’ll be after you’ve exhausted all 50 states.” 

“Ha ha,” Brock said dryly. “C’mon get in the water. I don’t want to be the only one wet.” 

“You chose to get wet.” 

“And I’m choosing for you to also get wet.” Brock replied, matter of factly. “C’mon. Show me what you got, hot shot.” 

He splashed water at Jack, a childish action and Jack tried to be stern and failed. It was hard to tell him no. “Alright, alright.” 

He went under, the water comfortable on his skin. It didn’t shock him in the slightest. He resurfaced and pushed his hair out his eyes. “Now was that so hard?” Brock tutted. 

“Incredibly.” Jack slicked back his hair and wiped water from his face. He’d dry quickly in the sun. “So what do you do?” 

“If I have to guess where you’re from, you have to guess what I do.” 

“There are infinite options for jobs,” Jack protested. “There’s only so many states I can be from.” 

Brock seemed to consider it. “I manage hedge funds.” he finally said. “Boring shit.” 

“Rich guy shit.” 

“Yeah, that too. What about you? Please tell me it's rustling up cows.” 

“Cow rustling is theft.” 

“Oh shit really?” 

“Yes.” 

“...Does it have to do with cows?” 

Jack couldn’t help but smile at his innocent earnestness on the matter. It didn’t impact him in the slightest and he, a hedge fund manager, could surely do better than some hick. “No. I’m a mechanic.” 

“Oh you tune up cars?” 

“Most I fix farm equipment. Lift trucks occasionally.” 

“Like with your arms?” 

“Like with a kit.” 

“Oh.” Brock stared off to the beach. “That sounds more exciting than sitting on your ass all day.” 

“It doesn’t look like you sit on your ass all day,” Jack pointed out and Brock turned back to him with a grin. 

“That’s the boxing, baby.” He had a bit of accent himself and Jack thought it was somewhere in New York. Not Jersey though. He knew Jersey anywhere. “Working out is my escape.” 

“Looks like you have to escape a lot.” 

“Whenever I fucking can.” Brock frowned at the middle distance and Jack tried to change the topic. 

“Hey, let's go shoot tequila.” 

“I thought cowboys drink whiskey.” 

Jack smiled. “Whiskey works too.” 

** ** ** **

They sat at the beach bar, fingers of whiskey between them. Jack’s throat was already warmed with one and he was enjoying Brock’s company more the longer he spent with him. He was demanding and unapologetic which was refreshing into today's world. There was no beating around the bush about interest. Was it friendly or something more? That was answered when Brock kissed him after their first shot. It was short but sweet, a solid beginning to something more. They paced themselves, drinking bottom shelf. Brock slipped up and told him he was born and raised in the projects in Brooklyn. He had worked so hard to elevate himself from his early life poverty that he’d settled into a role he’d learned to resent. He wanted to be a professional boxer, a dashed dream he deemed an impossibility because the best started young and there was no way his father would have scrounged up the money for lessons even if he had cared about him. 

Jack met his openness with his own. He was careful not to divulge where he was from. (“Oklahoma,” Brock said. “Nope,” Jack replied.) He was thrilled to find out his parents had owned a dairy farm but expressed condolences when he found out the bank had foreclosed on their home and forced them to sell the farm when Jack was just a kid. Jack assured him it was fine, he hardly remembered the place. His father had enlisted in the army and never came home from his tour. His mother never remarried and worked at the salon through Jack’s childhood. His upbringing wasn’t glamorous in the slightest but it was heaven compared to Brock’s. Once childhoods were exhausted the sun was starting to set, great brush strokes of pink and orange filling the vast sky, they ordered a beer each and turned around on their stools, leaning back against the bar to watch the sun set. 

The bar lights came on as dusk fell and the sky started to glimmer with stars. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“You should see the stars back home.” Jack replied, taking a drink from his beer. 

“Maybe I should see them for myself,” Brock countered. “Georgia.” 

“Yup.” 

Brock whipped his head around, excitement glowing his eyes. “Really?” 

“No.” 

His face fell and his elbowed Jack. “Jerk.” 

“I can’t believe it’s taking you this long,” Jack sighed with a head shake. “I oughta tell you.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Brock bristled. “I’m going to figure this out before you leave. Which is when, by the way?” 

He slipped his cellphone from his back pocket and frowned. “In about twelve hours.” 

“Don’t look so down, partner. There’s plenty we can do in twelve hours.” He turned back to the bar and downed the last finger of whiskey. He slipped off the stool and held out his hand. 

Jack didn’t hesitate to take it. 

The sex was unhurried, slow and personal. They breathed together, moved together. Their hands were clasped together the entire time, Jack’s green eyes burning into Brock’s brown. They kissed, slow and sweet. It was a parting kiss and that was painful in a way Jack had never experienced. When they finished, Brock sprawled out on his chest, drawing idle sharped on his sternum. The french doors to the room were open letting a cool breeze filter through, carrying with it the smell of the ocean, clean and fresh. 

“Leave with me.” Jack said quietly. 

The drawing paused a moment and then continued. “You’re crazy.” 

Maybe he was. Brock eventually got out of the bed, getting dressed to go back to his room. Jack propped himself up on his elbow and caught Brock’s wrist. The man paused, looking at him. “Leave with me,” he said again. “Meet me in the morning.”

“Maybe.” Brock said after a moment of hesitation. 

Jack knew ‘maybe’ was the best he was going to get as he let go. Brock stooped down and kissed him. “Goodbye for now, Jack.” 

“Goodbye for now,” he echoed. 

The door shut and Jack sprawled out on the bed hoping desperately he would see him in the lobby in a few short hours. He fantasized about showing him off, taking him home and showing him around his tiny home town nestled in a pocket of oaks and hickories, and introducing him to everyone. With those thoughts in mind he drifted off, dreaming of Brock in the passenger seat of his sun-faded Silverado, window down and feet propped up on the dash singing along to a country song in that horrible southern accent he had. 

** ** ** **

Jack’s heart shattered as he stood in the lobby of the hotel, cheery guests eagerly awaited their resort experience streaming around him; vacation goers and honey-mooners. Jack waited as long as he possibly could, staring at the elevator. Every time it opened his heart raced and each time someone stepped out who wasn’t Brock his heart cracked. Jack was shocked there was anything left when he finally ran out of time and called his cab. 

He was numb all the way to the airport, mind back at the beach bar when Brock was at his side. It was crazy for him to have fallen for someone in one day but in a way it felt like they had known each other for weeks. Never in Jack’s life had he felt the way he felt towards Brock and that made it all the more gut-wrenching. When he went through security at the airport he stepped out of his boots and a bit of sand ran out of them -- all he’d brought back to remind him of what’d had with Brock. 

His heart broke a bit more. 

Bucky met him at the airport in his truck, Steve in their Tundra parked beside it. Bucky slid out the cab and threw his arms around him. “Hey! How was it?” 

“Great.” Jack’s couldn’t even muster enthusiasm and his friend clued in immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’ll tell you later.” Jack didn’t trust himself to talk about it now. Besides, it wasn’t the place. 

Bucky nodded his head and passed him his keys walking around the truck to swap places with Steve. The small man looked humorless tiny in the lifted diesel truck but Jack couldn’t even find in him to tease him or ask how managed to reach the pedals. When he got into the truck he was hit with a pang of pain. His passenger side was empty and it would remain that way. The radio seemed to play only love songs so he turned it off and focused on avoiding potholes on his way home. His house was unremarkable, white washed one level with a trussed roof. He parked beside his fishing boat and got out grabbing his suitcase. 

His dog was happy to see him, the coonhound dancing in place. It helped soothe the heartache a bit. He knelt down giving the dog a chance to rush him and licked his hands and face. Jack pet him. 

“Hey there, Gunner, hey there, boy.” He sat on the floor, now in the privacy of his home he no longer needed to keep face. His eyes welded up tears he’d successfully staved off for hours. “I think I loved him, boy.” 

The dog whimpered and immediately tasked him with licking the tears from his cheeks, a chore seeing as they fell aplenty. He hadn’t cried the way he cried since he was a boy and had to bury his very first dog. It felt he was grieving the death of Brock. And in a way he was. It was the first step of recovery after all. He cried until the sun sunk low the shadows had climbed up the walls. Gunner was lying on him, big brown eyes pitying him. It was past his dinner time and Jack was grateful for having something to do. He heaved himself up and dragged his suitcase further into the house, filling Gunner’s bowl. The envelope with cash he’d left Wanda for looking after Gunner was untouched and he shook his head, ignoring it for now. He’d pass it onto her brother when he fueled up tomorrow morning before work. 

He was happy had work tomorrow, that things would continue as if he’d never left. It would be easier to get over Brock that way. 

** ** ** **

“How was it?” Tony asked when he stepped into the garage. 

He was in his grease stained jumpsuit and dog tired from a terrible night’s sleep. It had been full of Brock, vivid and so real that when he woke up with a bed empty save for Gunner, he nearly lost himself in tears once more. “It was fine.”

“You run off to paradise and you’re gonna tell me it was  _ fine _ ?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders. Coulson had his fancy-shmancy ‘62 Corvette in for an oil change and that was his first task to tackle. He sat down in the convertible creeper seat and kicked over to the table where the bottles of Mobil 1, kept solely for Coulson’s car, were housed. He pushed the seat down flat and slid under the car with a catch pan. 

“Yup.” 

“You’re no fun,” Tony complained. There was the crackling of welding as he sealed up a rusted frame. “At least tell me what the ocean is like. Lord knows I’m not gonna see it in my lifetime.” 

Jack didn’t want to think about the ocean because when he did Brock was there diving beneath the surface. “It’s blue.” 

“Grumpy ‘cos you’re back to the real world?” Tony guessed. 

Jack was grumpy because the real world didn’t include Brock. “I met someone,” he finally said. What would it hurt? Maybe talking it out would be therapeutic. “He was incredible.” 

“You met someone?” Tony shuffled closer, bending down to peer under the car. “You’re not pulling my chain?” 

“He was incredible.” Jack said again. He unplugged the oil and let it run into the pan. “His name’s Brock.” 

“Brock,” Tony echoed. He straightened up. “Well, tell me about this Brock.” 

And Jack did. He went into all the itty bitty details that had captured Jack when he heard them. He told him about his insistence that Jack was a cowboy, how he couldn’t guess where he was from, and how he hated his job. He told him that Brock loved to box and did a terrible southern accent. Jack mentioned that he’d grown up in Brooklyn but currently worked in New York City managing hedge funds. Tony didn’t know what a hedge fund was and neither did Jack but it sounded impressive to the both of them. Jack went on and on because it was as easy to talk about Brock as it had been to talk  _ to  _ Brock. 

“Are you staying in contact?” Tony asked when he finally ran out of things to say. 

At this point he was done with Coulson’s car and had driven it out the garage to be picked up and brought in a Bush Hog that needed a diagnostic run on it. The question cut him deep and he flinched. “He wasn’t interested in extending things.” 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Jack lied. 

“Sounds like he was one of those big city types anyway.” 

He certainly was but it hadn’t put Jack off the way it did when Louisville bigshots came swaggering into town or tourists came through. “He was different,” Jack said, immediately defensive. “I’ve never met anyone like him.” 

“You’ll meet someone new,” Tony assured him, clearly trying to repair his feelings. 

“No I won’t,” Jack said bitterly. “I’ll never love anyone the way I loved him.” 

“You hardly knew him. Love’s kinda a strong word, don’t you think?” Tony glanced at him, wiping grease from his hands onto a rag. He caught Jack’s piercing glare and quickly surrendered. “Or maybe not. Love might be a fitting word. What do I know, I never met the guy.” 

“And you never will,” Jack said sadly.

** ** ** **

Jack found talking about Brock helped dramatically much to his friend’s dismay. He knew they were tired about hearing about him and how incredible Jack had found him to be. They kept assuring him that he would meet someone better, someone who would capture him the way that Brock and they, unlike Brock, would stay. Jack hated when they reminded him that Brock hadn’t stayed. He liked to live in the past, talking about Brock prior to that morning when he crushed his heart. 

“If I hear about Brock tonight I am going to kill you,” Natasha prefaced when they met for beers at the bar. 

Jack pursed his lips. They said his name like they knew him and, to some extent, they did. They knew him just as well as Jack did. But he still wanted to talk about him. Wanted to reminisce on that day of perfection. In the privacy of his home he replayed that slow sensuous night while thrusting into his fist. 

“Then what do you want to talk about?” he said glumly. 

“What my disastrous fiance did to Lucky.” She took a swig of her beer. “He went to the Walmart in Lexington -- supposedly to get more paint for the porch -- and I came back from my shift to find Lucky  _ purple _ . Bless his heart, I almost killed him.” 

Jack laughed and it was genuine. “It is his favorite color.” 

She bristled and took another drink of her beer. “I haven’t even gotten to the worse part. You know those nice towels we got at our engagement party?” 

Jack knew exactly where it was going and his jaw fell slack. “No.” 

She looked gravely at him, unwavering eye contact. “Oh yes.” 

“And he’s still alive?” 

“Miraculously.” She blew out a breath. “My brake pads are grinding, think I can bring the old girl in? I swear my car’s got more problems than Carter’s got pills.” 

“I can keep any eye out at auctions for you.” 

“God willing and the creek don’t rise, she’ll get through until tax season.” she sighed. “How are you holding up though? I’m worried about you with all this obsessive Brock business.” 

“It’s not obsessive,” Jack said defensively. Natasha stared at him and Jack sighed in defeat. “Okay maybe it’s a  _ little _ obsessive. I’ve just never felt that way about anyone before and knowing I had it and I lost it… It’s like losing a winning lotto ticket. I lost the chance to change my entire life. Let a guy grieve.” 

“You’ve been grieving for a month, it’s time to start to let go,” she said softly. “Best way to get over someone to get under somebody. Or, in your case,  _ into  _ somebody.” 

Jack flushed red. It felt like infidelity but maybe Natasha had a point. Maybe it was time to move past it. 

** ** ** **

He was weldinging a muffler while Tony was on lunch when a pair of shoes appeared. 

“Be out in a minute,” he grunted. 

“No rush.” 

Jack knew that voice. He scooted the creeper back and sat up prematurely smacking his head against the wheel well. He cursed but couldn’t be bothered by the pain as he scrambled to his feet. He couldn’t believe his eyes. If it wasn’t for the throbbing pain he would have thought he was dreaming. Brock was standing there, arms crossed across his chest. 

“Kentucky,” he said. “Told you I’d get it eventually.” 

“Brock,” he breathed. “You’re here --  _ how? _ ”

“Well it involves some questionably legal bribing of resort employees.” 

“You weren’t there.” It came out more accusatory than Jack intended it but it was out and there was no editing it. “I waited and you didn’t show up.” 

“It felt crazy at the time. I’d only know you for a  _ day _ Jack. That’s faster than fast. That’s…” he laughed. “Crazy. But then I went back to New York and I went back to work. I kept thinking I’d stop thinking about you but I just couldn’t get you out of my head. I’ve never regretted anymore than I regretted not showing up in that lobby. I’d stay up at night and wonder what the stars looked like where you were. I know you might not feel the same way, especially after all this time but,” he shrugged. “I can’t live with that what-ifs. I have to shoot my shot even if it’s late.” 

Jack legged the distance between them and with his welding goggles still on caught his lips in a kiss he’d only dreamt of. Brock melted into it. They pulled apart, foreheads resting against each other. 

“Easy there cowboy,” Brock murmured. “I can’t ensure I’ll be on my best behavior if you kiss me like that again.” 

Jack uttered a breathy laugh and kissed him. It was short and sweet and it conveyed everything he’d wished he told him during all those weeks he’d missed him. Brock’s kiss said the same. They held each other for an unknown period of time, simply basking in each other's presence after such a long time apart. 

“Uh,” a voice said from the entrance of the garage. “We running a new special I don’t know about?” 

“Tony,” Jack straightened, radiating with pride. “This is Brock.” 

Tony’s jaw dropped. “Brock? Like  _ the  _ Brock you haven’t shut about for weeks?” 

Jack flushed and Brock laughed. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “That Brock.” 

“Aw, hell.” Tony walked over and thrust his hand out. “Nice to meet. I’ve heard all about you so no real need for an introduction on your part. I’m Tony.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Tony.” Brock said. Jack’s hand was still around his waist. He feared if he stopped touching him he’d vanish. “Hopefully you’ve heard good things.” 

“Are you kidding me? Talking down about you was practically criminal.” Tony paused. “Not that anyone  _ would  _ I just meant…” 

“No, I get it. I’d talk down about someone who left my friend hanging too.” 

“But you came back,” Jack argued. 

“I had to.” Brock said. “I couldn’t imagine a life without you.” 

Jack smiled and kissed him. There were plenty more introductions to make, technicalities to work out and a muffler he still needed to reattach but all for now he was going to enjoy the moment. 

As it turned out he had brought home more of Brock than just sand in his boots. 


End file.
